[Flourish. Enter the DUKE of Florence, BERTRAM,
PAROLLES, Soldiers, Drum, and Trumpets]
DUKE: The general of our horse thou art; and we,
Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence
Upon thy promising fortune.
BERTRAM: Sir, it is
A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet
We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake
To the extreme edge of hazard.
DUKE: Then go thou forth;
And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm,
As thy auspicious mistress!
BERTRAM: This very day,
Great Mars, I put myself into thy file:
Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove
A lover of thy drum, hater of love.
[Exeunt]
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

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